


Sapere Aude

by zimriya



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know what we should do?” says Courfeyrac. He’s gathered the towel back up and is holding it tightly around his waist.</p><p>“No,” says the entire group.</p><p>Courfeyrac pouts for thirty whole seconds, and finally Enjolras relents. He brings a hand to the bridge of his nose and massages the skin there. “Will it get you to put on clothes?”</p><p>“Yes,” says Courfeyrac.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>“We should play truth or dare.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sapere Aude

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone should watch this [trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jE5dJDgZ644) for the movie Birdemic if you have not seen Birdemic because a) your life will be better for it, and b) it will make things less confusing. (If not, just know that Birdemic is a truly awful (read:amazing) film.)
> 
> Title means "dare to know," and was Immanuel Kant's motto of the Enlightenment. 
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [decourfeynated](http://decourfeynated.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. All other mistakes are my own.

**Sapere Aude**

 

 

 

**\--**

When the power goes out, Enjolras has already compulsively control+s’d his word document three times. It’s a reflex, at this point, mainly because of that one time from before he knew what control+s even was, where he lost an entire treatise on the province of Alsace-Loraine for a history debate. Also, Enjolras has gotten to the point in his college career where losing a word document is the equivalent of stabbing out his own eyeballs with spoons.

But none of this matters, of course, when the power goes out.

Enjolras ends up suddenly thrust into darkness, heart pounding in his chest, laptop settled across his knees. He’s alone in the room for once, as Combeferre is off studying with Eponine and Courfeyrac had gone to take a shower. He gives his friend about seven seconds to start screaming.

One, two, three--

Enjolras has to hand it to Courfeyrac; it only takes him three seconds to go from singing loudly in the shower to screaming loudly in the shower.

“Oh my god!” shrieks Courfeyrac. “I can’t see!”

Enjolras sighs and sets his laptop down on his desk, grabs his flashlight, key, and phone, before heading for the door. He pulls it open and shines the light out on Courfeyrac, who has abandoned decency in favor of covering his eyes with his arms.

“And now I’m blind!”

Enjolras rolls his eyes at him, nudges him to the left with one hand, and heads into the bathroom. “Shut up,” he tells Courfeyrac, grabbing his towel and chucking it at his head. “You’ll be fine. You’d been in there for ten minutes, anyway.”

Courfeyrac looks up from where he’d started toweling his hair. “Why, Enjolras,” he says, sounding gleeful. “Does this mean what I think it does?”

“No,” says Enjolras, even though he doesn’t quite know what Courfeyrac is implying; it’s better to be safe than sorry. “Courfeyrac--”

Courfeyrac drops the towel around his shoulders and drapes an arm around Enjolras’ own, tugging him close. “You listen to what I sing in the shower!” says Courfeyrac. “You have no idea how happy this has made me!”

“Our room is right across from the bathroom,” says Enjolras, fighting to get away from the clinging wetness that is Courfeyrac. “There’s no way I _couldn’t_ listen to you in the shower. And would you please put some clothes on!”

There’s a pause.

“Listen to you _sing_ in the shower!” corrects Enjolras, glad for the darkness to cover the flushing of his cheeks. “You’re _awful_.”

“Come, now, Enjolras,” says Courfeyrac. “You love me--you’ve conceded to living with me for three more years--”

“A fact with I regret, strongly,” says Enjolras, through his teeth. “Now get off--”

The lights flicker, briefly, and Jehan appears in front of them, holding his own flashlight and toiletry kit. “Oh,” he says. “Hello.”

Courfeyrac shrieks, releases his hold on Enjolras to fling him basically back towards their door, and grabs for the towel. By the time Enjolras fights his way upright again to glare at him, he has it wrapped around his waist and bright smile lining his lips. “Hello, Jehan,” says Courfeyrac.

“Were you in the shower when the power went out?” says Jehan.

Courfeyrac’s smile somehow manages to get even wider. “Yep,” he says. “One second I was happily demonstrating my affection for the lovely Beyonce and also Enjolras--”

“More like defaming her name,” mutters Enjolras, and Jehan frowns at him.

“--and the next I was being plunged into darkness,” finishes Courfeyrac. “And don’t pretend like you don’t love my daily shower serenades,” he adds, addressing Enjolras. “How else would you stay up on pop culture?” He moves as if to pull Enjolras into another unwanted embrace.

“Contrary to popular belief I do listen to the radio,” says Enjolras. He does something of a bob and weave so that he’s standing behind Jehan. “And stop doing that, you’re wet.”

Courfeyrac sticks his tongue out at Enjolras, and Enjolras resists the urge to smack him.

“Ah,” says Jehan. “Well, I’m sorry about that, Courfeyrac--”

“I’m not,” says Bahorel, pushing open the door to his and Feuilly’s room. He emerges grinning, with his own flashlight pressed to his chin. “Say whatever you want about my own bathroom vocals, Courfeyrac, but they have nothing on your high notes.”

“We cannot all be R,” says Courfeyrac, as Grantaire’s door opens and the man in questions startles.

He looks a little deer-in-the-headlights, but when Courfeyrac meets his eyes, he says, “What? I don’t sing in the shower?”

“Yes you do,” says Enjolras, stupidly, and all of their friends go very suddenly silent.

“Um,” says Grantaire.

“Was that a secret?” says Enjolras.

“You noticed?” says Courfeyrac.

“Anyway!” says Bahorel. “The point still stands.” He points at Grantaire with the hand holding the light. “You are a somewhat decent singer of incredibly depressing songs.”

Grantaire shrugs, but doesn’t object. He lets his door fall shut and leans back against it, the shiny plaque that labels him the ‘Resident Assistant’ glinting in the light from Bahorel’s flashlight. “They’re not _all_ depressing.”

“They are pretty depressing,” says Eponine, coming out of her and Cosette’s room with Combeferre in tow. Marius, Cosette, Bossuet, and Musichetta are still probably at the library, but Joly appears a few moments later looking concerned.

“See,” says Bahorel. “Depressing.” He pauses, before pointing the flashlight at Enjolras. “What do you think, Enjolras?”

“Erm,” says Enjolras.

“He thinks they’re depressing,” chimes in Feuilly. “Carry on.”

“Thank you, Feuilly,” says Bahorel, pointing his light at his roommate. After a moment, he turns back to Courfeyrac. “And you are a terrible singer of surprisingly catchy pop songs.”

“Hey,” Courfeyrac tries to protest. “They’re not _all_ catchy--”

“Combeferre could not stop humming that song about thongs for weeks,” says Enjolras, before he can finish. “Do not talk to me.”

Courfeyrac’s jaw goes snapping shut. “Right,” he says. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“I hadn’t,” says Combeferre. He pushes his glasses up his nose, and sighs. “Is there some sort of protocol for this?”

Grantaire blinks, and turns to Eponine, who rolls her eyes. “I’ve called DPS,” she says, “but they’ve basically told me to wait.” She frowns around at all of them. “You all got the annoying voicemails.”

Enjolras sighs and looks down at his phone.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to call them annoying in front of the ducklings, Eponine,” says Grantaire. He comes around to drape and arm around her shoulders, and grins at them.

“I really wish you’d stop calling us that,” says Enjolras.

“And I really wish--”

“Okay!” says Eponine, loudly. She pushes Grantaire’s arm off of her, gently, and he goes with a smile. “Thank you for that, R, I’ll be sure to tell Javert all about this newfound responsibility when he starts figuring out who’s on duty this weekend.”

“What’s this weekend?” says Enjolras, at the same time Courfeyrac crows, “That’s right, this weekend!” loudly, and lifts both of his arms.

The move, sadly, lets his towel slip down his legs to hit the floor, and none of them have the foresight to move their flashlights fast enough to avoid mental scarring.

“I hate you,” says Grantaire, miserably.

“Love you, too,” says Eponine, and pats him on the back. “Anyway,” she continues, “the point I was trying to make is--”

The doors at the end of the hall come slamming open to reveal Marius, dragging Cosette and Bossuet behind him with both hands. Musichetta is trailing along behind them, and she looks like she’s laughing.

“Eponine!” shouts Marius. “The power’s out in the library!”

Enjolras narrows his eyes at him, taking in the slightly deranged look in his eyes and the way Bossuet looks very sheepish. “Are you drunk?” he says.

Eponine, very helpfully, turns to Combeferre and starts a loud conversation about their Chemistry Lab. Grantaire, by contrast, only looks amused. Enjolras really isn’t sure how he got to be an RA in the first place.

“No,” says Marius.

“That’s not important,” says Cosette.

“Do we know when the power’s coming back?” says Bossuet.

“You know what we should do?” says Courfeyrac. He’s gathered the towel back up and is holding it tightly around his waist.

“No,” says the entire group.

Courfeyrac makes a hurt face and goes to lift his hands up again.

“No!” repeats the group.

Courfeyrac pouts for thirty whole seconds, and finally Enjolras relents. He brings a hand to the bridge of his nose and massages the skin there. “Will it get you to put on clothes?”

“Yes,” says Courfeyrac.

“Fine.”

“We should play truth or dare.”

\--

“You’d think you were all on a camping trip, not at school,” says Grantaire, when Joly passes him on his way into the room carrying an actual lantern. Their RA is standing somewhat awkwardly next to Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s beds, just to the left of the door.

Enjolras ignores him in favor of taking the lantern and setting it down next to their collection of flashlights and battery-operated night lights. “Just because I’m doing this doesn’t mean I like this course of action,” he tells Courfeyrac.

He friend darts by him in flurry of sweet smelling air carrying a bunch of blankets, which he spreads around their room. “Yeah, yeah,” he says.

“And we’re only in here because it’s the biggest.”

“We know,” shouts Bahorel, Feuilly, and Eponine. They’ve taken up residence on Enjolras’ bed, and no matter of glaring or eyebrow raising has gotten them to show any signs of moving.

“Now stop complaining,” begins Bahorel.

“And sit down,” finishes Feuilly.

Between them, Eponine snickers, and punches them in the arms. “I’m going to miss you two the most,” she tells them. “Promise to come visit me when you’re off living in your fancy theme housing and R and I have a new clan of freshmen to terrorize.”

“You seem rather certain that I’ll get paired with you again,” says Grantaire, dryly, snagging a blanket from Courfeyrac’s arms and setting in around the flashlights. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta follow suit, leaving Combeferre, Jehan, and Courfeyrac the only ones remaining standing.

Enjolras sinks back on his heels and finds his own spot to sit. That he’s somewhat near to Grantaire is over no concern.

“Also, that R will even be allowed back into the Res Life program,” points out Bahorel. He nudges Feuilly a few times with his foot until the other gets up with a sigh, and they plop down on either side of Grantaire with matching grins. “He is entirely to blame for the water balloon fiasco.”

“Ah, the water balloon fiasco,” says Courfeyrac, taking a place next to Musichetta and leaning back on his hands. Jehan sinks down next to him, and smacks at his arms until he sits up straight. “Those were the days,” continues Courfeyrac.

“Water balloons?” inquires Combeferre, curiously, sitting down next to Jehan. He and Enjolras each move around a bit to complete the circle, leaving just enough room for Eponine, Cosette, and Marius to sink down between them.

“We’re not talking about that,” says Enjolras, shortly, to Courfeyrac. “You were away that weekend,” he adds, still shortly, to Combeferre.

“It was glorious,” says Cosette, dreamily. “Most fun in years.”

“Montparnasse refused to speak to me for a week,” agrees Eponine. “I thought Babet was going to _strain_ something.”

“I don’t think I know this story?” says Jehan. “Although, ‘Parnasse might have told me his version?”

Courfeyrac has the decency to turn gleeful eyes back on Enjolras this time, and he sighs. “I hate you all,” he tells them.

“You love us,” says Courfeyrac. “Now tell the story.”

“The dorm next to us had a fire drill at seven in the morning, once,” says Enjolras as tonelessly as possible. He can see Grantaire out of the corner of his eye laughing quietly to himself. “And so Courfeyrac, in a rare moment of genius, decided that what we should do is throw water balloons out of our window into the courtyard they were standing in.”

“Oh my,” says Combeferre.

“You’re forgetting the best part,” says Eponine. “Tell him, R.”

Grantaire raises both of his hands. “To be fair,” he says, addressing the group as a whole. “It was seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. I cannot be held responsible.”

“You told us that ‘we needed to open the windows more so that we could aim better,’” says Enjolras, still tonelessly. “And then all of them fled and left me to deal with the backlash.”

“I am sorry about that,” says Courfeyrac. He doesn’t try to lean around the circle to hug Enjolras, but Enjolras can tell that he wants to.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” says Combeferre.

Enjolras shoots him a look over the top of Eponine and Cosette’s head. “No you’re not,” he says.

“No I’m not,” agrees Combeferre.

Everyone else laughs.

“You’re all awful,” says Enjolras, but he’s smiling.

Courfeyrac casts him and look, before clapping his hands together. “Okay!” he says, loudly. “Who’s ready to play?”

The circle all takes turns raising their eyebrows at him until he relents, showing them his palms and closing his eyes.

The silence carries on for a good while, to the point where Enjolras finds himself exchanging sharp looks and head gestures with Grantaire across the circle.

Grantaire seems to concede, and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Courfeyrac does.

“Okay, how are we doing this?” he says blinking open an eye.

Musichetta hits him. “Just for that,” she says. “You’re going first.”

“Let’s go clockwise,” puts in Cosette. “Jehan?”

Jehan turns to smile at Courfeyrac. “Courfeyrac,” he says. “Truth or Dare?”

“Mm,” says Courfeyrac. “Dare.”

Someone makes an exasperated noise, but Enjolras can’t tell who with the limited light.

“I dare you to kiss the next person who speaks,” says Jehan.

“That’s stupid,” says Enjolras, on reflex. “Who here hasn’t made out with Courfeyrac--you’re not even trying.”

There is a short pause.

“I haven’t made out with you,” says Courfeyrac finally. “But obviously we’re solving that problem now.”

Enjolras can already feel his cheeks heating, but he holds himself steady when Courfeyrac clamors over their friends to press a surprisingly chaste kiss to his lips.

“What?” he says when he pulls back. “Do you want tongue?”

“What-- _no_!” yelps Enjolras, outright blushing, now. “Courfeyrac!”

“Just asking,” says Courfeyrac. “R wouldn’t settle for anything _less_ than tongue.”

“R was also not at all sober,” says Grantaire, dryly. He reaches around Feuilly to take hold of Courfeyrac’s shirt sleeve, and tugs him back towards his spot in the circle. “Your turn.”

Courfeyrac follows his lead with an eye roll. It looks odd, in the dark. “This is sort of boring,” he says.

“I think it’s interesting,” begins Marius, quietly, before Cosette hushes him.

“What would make it more interesting?” she asks.

“Alcohol,” says Eponine and Grantaire, instantly, and Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“What else?” prompts Cosette.

“I don’t think you can have a boring game of Truth or Dare,” says Joly.

“Nonsense,” says Bossuet. “Everything can be boring.”

“Well, that’s fucking depressing,” says Grantaire. “Thank you for that, Bossuet, I’ll be sure to tell all my would-be-law-students you said that next year.”

“So you are going to be an RA next year,” says Eponine, triumphantly. “Give me five.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows. “I’m nowhere near you,” he says.

“Air five,” says Eponine.

“Boring,” says Courfeyrac.

“I don’t think it’s boring,” argues Enjolras.

“You obviously aren’t thinking straight,” says Courfeyrac. “My kissing skills must have killed off brain cells.”

“Your kissing skills aren’t that great,” points out Bahorel.

“Yeah,” agrees most of the room.

“You’re all awful people,” says Courfeyrac. “I don’t know why I even try with you.”

“Chance,” says Jehan, suddenly, and they all turn to look at him. He gets to his feet to go darting into the hallway, returning with an empty water bottle.

Courfeyrac looks gleeful in the flashlight light. “Yes,” he agrees. “Brilliant, Jehan.”

Jehan rolls his eyes a little, but also preens.

Musichetta does shakes her head at the both of them and leans around to take the bottle and spin.

“Hey,” says Courfeyrac. “You skipped me.”

“Bite me,” says Musichetta, as the bottle stops. “Cosette, truth or dare?”

\--

Enjolras isn’t quite sure how, but he manages to make it a full thirty minutes before he gets called on. Courfeyrac takes turns making each of their friends make out with him to pass the time, but when Eponine rolls the bottle and it just barely passes Enjolras for the third time, he groans.

“Dare him to switch spots with Enjolras,” he says. “It’s unfair.”

Grantaire shrugs both of his shoulders at Eponine, who nods.

“You still have to say dare,” grumbles Enjolras, but he switches with Grantaire obligingly.

\--

“Oh, um,” says Jehan, startled, when the bottle lands on him several moments later. “Truth?”

There is a collective sigh. “Aw, come on, Prouvaire,” complains Eponine, reaching out to shove at Jehan’s shoulders. “Live a little.”

Jehan holds his head up. “Truth,” he repeats, ignoring how Courfeyrac flops down across Musichetta’s lap with a sigh.

“Um,” says Joly. “How about--”

Bossuet tugs him close to him with a terrifying cackle, but Jehan doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Why--?” Enjolras starts to ask him.

“He’s sitting near Courfeyrac,” explains Jehan.

Courfeyrac has not moved from his place across Musichetta’s lap, but he still manages to convey a sentiment of a dog perking up its ears.

“Ah,” says Enjolras, and nothing more. “Good choice.”

Courfeyrac sits up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Combeferre snorts. “Don’t act surprised,” he says.

“No, but, what?” says Courfeyrac. “Last time we played Truth or Dare--”

“Last time we played Truth or Dare you made me skinny dip in your neighbor’s pool,” says Enjolras, into the suddenly very quiet room.

There is a beat.

“Um,” says Enjolras.

“Is there--” begins Bahorel, cautiously, “Is there footage of this?”

There is another beat.

“No,” says Combeferre, finally.

“It was a long time ago and we were in High School,” agrees Courfeyrac, nodding his head.

“There is absolutely no footage of this game,” continues Combeferre, also nodding his head.

Grantaire, Bahorel, and Feuilly all turn to look between Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras in unison with wide, amused, eyes.

Combeferre nods some more, for good measure. “None at all.”

“Anyway!” says Enjolras, quickly. “You were saying truth?”

“Okay,” says Joly. “First person that ever made you, you know.” Musichetta makes a truly obscene gesture with her right wrist and Jehan has the decency to color a little.

“I think--” begins Jehan. He darts a quick look between Eponine and Courfeyrac, before darting forward to whisper into Joly’s ear.

Courfeyrac opens his mouth, aghast. “That is cheating!” he protests.

Musichetta leans into to listen in, and shoots Jehan an approving thumbs up in response when their friend settles back into his place in the circle. “Shut up, Courfeyrac.”

“It’s still cheating,” says Courfeyrac, crossing his arms, but he perks up when Jehan takes hold of the bottle and spins.

It lands on Enjolras.

The entire room erupts into collective cheers.

“Make me proud, Jehan,” says Courfeyrac. He reaches out to grab Jehan by the arm and pulls him in close to kiss him on the cheek.

Enjolras sighs. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me get away with truth?” he says.

“Nope,” chorus his friends.

“Fine,” says Enjolras. “Dare?”

Jehan makes a face. “Hmm,” he says. “I dare you to give Grantaire a lap dance.”

For once, no one says anything in response.

“Jehan,” Courfeyrac says finally. “If I wasn’t already a slave to my mistress the Performing Arts, I think I would ask you to marry me.”

Jehan shoves him off of him, but smiles, a little, before turning back to Enjolras. “Well,” he says, sweetly. “Go on, then.”

Enjolras gapes back at him.

“Lap dance,” says Eponine.

“Lap dance,” adds Combeferre.

“Lap dance!” cheers Courfeyrac.

“I hate you all,” says Enjolras, but he gets awkwardly to his knees anyway. “Sorry.”

Grantaire blinks back up at him, eyes blown wide and very, very blue, and doesn’t say anything. His hands settle down onto Enjolras’ hips, however.

“Hello,” says Grantaire.

“Hello,” replies Enjolras, stupidly. “Want to help me kill them all?”

“Not just Prouvaire?”

“You love me,” says Jehan.

“I know the entire Classics Department--do not test me,” shouts back Grantaire. “Now where were we?”

“Murder?” says Enjolras.

“Murder,” agrees Grantaire. “But, um--” He breaks off, uncertain, and Enjolras becomes incredibly aware of all of their points of contact.

Grantaire’s hands are two searing palm prints bracketing his hips, and Enjolras has to work very hard not to squirm when his thumbs brush skin.

“Sorry,” Grantaire whispers, sounding hoarse.

Enjolras refuses to look at anything but his eyes. “It’s okay,” he says.

“This isn’t a lap dance,” says Courfeyrac, finally.

“Shh,” says Eponine.

“But it _isn’t_ ,” says Courfeyrac.

“I amend the dare,” says Jehan.

“Jehan--!” Courfeyrac tries to protest, but Jehan raises a hand.

“You have to spend the rest of the game in Grantaire’s lap.”

Enjolras shuts his eyes, briefly. “Can I at least face the rest of you?” he says finally.

“No,” says Jehan.

“Marriage,” hisses Courfeyrac.

“You can turn sideways, though.”

\--

Of course, because Enjolras has no luck, it only takes two spins of the bottle for all of their friend’s attention to be back on the two of them.

“Grantaire,” says Marius, when the bottle stops.

“Make it count, Marius,” says Bahorel. “I have been waiting to get back at this one ever since the community meeting from hell.” He leans down to smirk at Grantaire, who twists so that he can glare back.

Enjolras does not think about nor notice the way the movement presses their hips flush together.

 “You’re all pretty damn certain I’ll pick dare,” says Grantaire.

“You always pick dare,” choruses Courfeyrac, Eponine, and even Cosette.

Grantaire raises both of his hands off of Enjolras’ hips for effect. “You don’t have to shout about it,” he says.

“Have you all played this before?” says Enjolras, half curiously, but mostly so that his brain has something else to focus on. “Where was I?”

“Studying,” says Courfeyrac. “You had a debate or some shit.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Enjolras, even as Feuilly makes a scoffing noise.

“That’s like every day, though,” he says.

“Shut up,” says Enjolras. From his place in Grantaire’s lap, he doesn’t even have to turn his head to glare at Feuilly. “We can’t all spend every waking hour in a studio.”

“Well, you couldn’t,” says Grantaire, coming to Feuilly’s rescue and setting his hands back on Enjolras’ hips. “Be it that you have the artistic skills that would make even my freshman ‘Everyone can make art’ professor weep.”

Enjolras feels his whole body jump when Grantaire touches him. “Shut up,” he says. “You’re the ones who made me draw.”

“Mm,” says Grantaire, smiling loftily back up at Enjolras. “I still can’t quite believe you did.”

Enjolras manages to meet his eyes, somehow, and then he gets somewhat lost in the surprisingly earnest tint to them. The flashlights are casting his jaw line into stark shadow, and the curl of his bangs makes it very hard to read anything in his expression. Their faces are close enough that if Enjolras leaned just an inch further, they’d be breathing the same air. He’s not quite sure how to feel about that, but before he can give it more thought, Courfeyrac is ruining the moment by speaking.

“But anyway, you might remember this particular day as the time we all took turns daring each other to go bug you.”

“I think we decided that we had to get you to say France,” says Combeferre.

Enjolras shoots him something of a hurt look, before blinking. “Wait,” he says, slowly. “Does this mean you actually didn’t have an assignment involving French Directors?” he asks, addressing Grantaire, who looks suddenly very awkward. If they weren’t currently sharing way too much body heat, Enjolras is pretty sure Grantaire would move. In fact, Enjolras has to lock his thighs in place when Grantaire starts squirming.

It’s a bad idea, though, because Grantaire goes live-wire still and the move presses them even more intimately close together.

Grantaire squeaks.

Enjolras feels his cheeks heat up.

“Oh my,” says Courfeyrac.

“Truth,” says Grantaire, somewhat desperately. “Please.”

The group collectively blinks.

“Coward,” says Eponine, but in good cheer. “Marius?”

Marius appears to be thinking, before his lips curl into a grin. “Would you rather,” he says, and Grantaire lets out a long, desperate breath.

“This sounds fun, go on.”

“Would you rather make and be known for _Birdemic 2_ ,” repeats Marius. “Or not be able to tell the difference between a muffin and a baby?”

The ensuing silence is terrible. Grantaire’s mouth, which had been curved into an amused smile, very slowly falls open.

“Oh my god,” says Jehan.

“That’s awful,” agrees Cosette. “I’m so glad that I’m dating you.”

Marius looks back at her, besotted.

“Don’t,” says Eponine, before they can begin cooing at each other. “I refuse, this is a PDA free space.”

“Unless it’s a dare,” puts in Courfeyrac, before Enjolras can open his mouth.

“Unless it’s a dare,” agrees Eponine.

“Nothing about this screams public displays of affection,” protests Enjolras, still flushing. Feuilly and Bahorel start _grinning_ up at him, and he considers burying his face in Grantaire’s neck, consequences be damned. 

“I’m sorry, what’s _Birdemic_?” says Joly, finally.

Enjolras shudders, a little, and Grantaire swallows.

“Awful movie,” says Musichetta.

“The most amazing movie _ever_ , I think you mean,” corrects Courfeyrac. “But come here, Pontmercy, I have never been prouder to be living with you next year.”

“Question,” says Grantaire. He brings a hand to his chin, and strokes at an imaginary beard. “When you say unable to tell the difference between a muffin and a baby--”

“I’m thinking full out, accidentally attempt to eat someone’s offspring, type stuff,” says Bahorel.

“Or worse,” puts in Feuilly. “Get caught randomly cradling and cooing at muffins.”

“Some of us do that anyway,” points out Jehan, sweetly. “Right, Courfeyrac?”

Courfeyrac nudges him with his shoulder. “Shut up, Prouvaire,” he says. “What I have with muffins is special. It transcends words.”

“Transcends,” repeats Jehan, under his breath. His fingers go twitching across his lap.

“Write a poem about that and we’re no longer friends,” says Courfeyrac. “Now answer the question."

“Cradling muffins isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done,” says Grantaire.

“But trying to eat a baby would be,” protests Joly.

There is a slightly longer-than-Enjolras-is-completely-comfortable-with pause.

“You really have never seen _Birdemic_ , have you,” says Grantaire.

Joly’s mouth drops open in some sort of horror, and Bossuet and Musichetta each reach around to hold him in a two person hug.

Enjolras isn’t quite sure if what he wants to do is laugh at Grantaire, hide from Grantaire, or possibly kiss Grantaire.

“But either way, I’ll take one for the team to save your poor babies,” Grantaire finishes. He turns to Enjolras with large, doe-eyes. “Will you star in my movie, Enjolras?”

Enjolras makes a face.

“That’s not a no,” sing-songs Grantaire, smiling.

Enjolras hits him with not nearly enough force to send him sprawling, but he does so anyway, until Feuilly makes a face and moves so that he’s closer to Bahorel. It means that both of Enjolras’ hand jolt out to grip at Grantaire’s shirt for balance, and slots their mouths together in one quick, awkward, motion.

“Oh holy gods,” says Courfeyrac.

Grantaire doesn’t appear to be breathing, and Enjolras is very quickly reviewing every encounter he has ever had with the man.

Grantaire’s mouth is softer than he’d expected, warmer, and when Enjolras flicks his eyes up to meet the other’s he finds him looking panicked. There’s a moment where Enjolras considers saying something, and his mouth slips just a hint open in response. Grantaire, at that moment, darts out a tongue to lick frantically at his lips, and they both freeze. Every nerve ending in Enjolras’ face snaps to attention, and he very suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands.

He thinks, possibly, that Grantaire might have been infuriating for all of the _right_ reasons.

“Oh _holy gods_ ,” repeats Courfeyrac.

And then suddenly, they’re both suddenly in motion. Enjolras gets to his feet on shaky limbs, grabs a flashlight at random out of the pile, and with a rush of excuses on his breath and a flush high on his cheeks leaves the room.

Grantaire appears behind him a few seconds later, looking equally shell-shocked, and pulls himself up to sit on the window-sill at the end of the hall. Enjolras leans back next to him, and breathes.

“Sorry,” Grantaire says finally, quietly, into the cool air.

Enjolras chokes on something of a laugh. “You’re sorry,” he says.

Someone in the room two doors down from them does something that makes a loud clattering noise, before the hall goes silent.

“Should I not be?” says Grantaire.

“You’re not the one who--”

“Who what?” interrupts Grantaire. “Got dared by his god awful friends to give me a lap dance?” He raises his voice a little at the tail end of that, and adds, “For that, Courfeyrac, you are helping me clean the bathroom this weekend!”

“Fuck you!” shouts Courfeyrac.

“Girls too!” says Eponine, sounding gleeful, and Courfeyrac makes a terrible whining noise and is silent.

“We don’t even have a girl’s bathroom,” points out Enjolras, more to Grantaire than anyone else. “The number of times I’ve wandered in to take a shower and found Eponine glowering at me is above twenty.”

Grantaire reaches out to cuff him gently on the head. “This is because you like to take showers at seven in the morning on Sundays,” he says. “And at seven in the morning on Sundays, Eponine is doing the walk of shame--”

“Oi!” says Eponine.

“All of you be quiet!” shrieks Jehan, finally. There is the sound of hushed, angry whispering, and then the door to Enjolras’ room slams.

“Do you have your key?” says Grantaire.

“No,” says Enjolras.

A moment later, the door opens, and something small and metallic hits the hallway floor.

Enjolras points his flashlight down at it, and sighs. “Thank you, Courfeyrac,” he calls.

There’s a knock on the wall.

“But no,” says Grantaire, watching Enjolras retrieve the key. “It’s not your fault at all.”

Enjolras gives the key in his hand a quick toss before pocketing it. “Okay,” he says, which is not _I think I’m in love with you_ , but all he can manage at the moment. “But then it’s not your fault either.”

Grantaire opens his mouth.

“You were as victim to the circumstances as I was,” interrupts Enjolras, “and therefore just as exempt from blame as I.”

Grantaire’s mouth opens and closes a few more times, before he smiles. “That’s the Enjolras I know and love,” he says, with just a touch of truth to his words. “The one who took Intro to Film even though it had nothing to do with his major.”

“I wanted to meet new people,” Enjolras protests. “And it got me you, so...” He trails off, and Grantaire looks slightly startled.

“You’d have met me anyway,” he manages, finally. “Seeing as I’m your--”

“Resident Assistant,” completely Enjolras, grinning. He turns a little so that most of his right side is leaning up against the wall. Without the brightness of their entire floor’s flashlights and Joly’s lantern, his eyes have somewhat adjusted. Enough that he can just make out the curve of Grantaire’s smile, at least. “How the hell did that even happen?”

“I was an awful freshman,” says Grantaire.

From the room, there is the sound of probably Eponine crying with laughter.

“No surprise there,” says Enjolras.

“No but, actually, Eponine made me,” says Grantaire. “So any and all misconceptions you might be having about me actually caring about you, Apollo.” Here he pauses, to lean in close and wink. “Are lies.”

“Mmm,” says Enjolras. He reaches up, heart thumping, to curl a hand around Grantaire’s cheek. “Is that so?”

“Yes?” says Grantaire, voice gone unnaturally high. “What are you--?”

Enjolras kisses him, briefly, to see if it feels the same as before. “Complete and utter lies,” he agrees.

Grantaire blinks back at him, startled, but when Enjolras leans up on his toes to kiss him again, he meets him halfway.

\--

When the power comes back on later that evening, Enjolras discovers dating the RA, has all kinds of lovely perks. The best of which, of course, are being able to roll over and complain when Grantaire’s lamp wakes them at three in the morning, because Grantaire just laughs, before pressing quick, and easy kisses all along Enjolras’ shoulder blades.

\--

End.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be lap dances for charity—but instead it is gratuitous Les Amis College AU Truth or Dare. I might have given everyone majors/developed even more head canons for this, so safe to say this might end up a verse.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/).


End file.
